


Progress

by Mercury Starlight (WoolandWater)



Series: The Young Ones - Love & Mobsters [8]
Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Broken Bone, Drugs, Explicit Language, F/M, Fighting, Gen, Het, M/M, Misogyny, Party, Ruminating, Slash, fix-up, omg so much exposition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1882464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoolandWater/pseuds/Mercury%20Starlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timeline: June 1985</p><p>A year since The Business started, and nearly a year since Rick and Vyv started sleeping together. Things grow, and things change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Progress

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been author-edited for typos and grammar, but has NOT been beta'd!

Mike sat in his room, at his desk, doing the weekly figures. They'd got so much larger than the first few weeks. Proceeds and profits, growing hand over fist, and in such a short time. One year they'd been at it now, that was all, and they'd made enough to _buy_ the bloody house out from under Balowski's nose. But it was better this way. Without the protection of lordship, a crook in a mansion is a conspicuous crook. No, better to stay here and reap the benefits of a low overhead.

And what benefits! He'd told everybody they'd all be better off - he'd had no idea how right he was. Neil hadn't so much as mentioned suicide for the better part of a year, and his profits were soaring. Vyvyan coming into his own was a sight to see. He'd conned an American trust-fund kid out of half his trust last month, and even made the kid feel happy about it. That boy was going places, and Mike was happy to mentor him into an adulthood of criminal enterprise. He felt like a proud father. Even Rick was becoming more useful - he could trust him with the menial jobs now, and he was even useful as a gopher - nobody suspected somebody who looked and acted like _him_ to be transporting anything of importance. All that time he and Vyvyan were spending _not_ beating the hell out of each other seemed to be doing wonders for his self-control and discipline, strangely enough. Seemed to Mike, Vyvyan was probably good for Rick. Seemed they might actually be good for each other. And happy, even-tempered cronies were definitely good for business.

And Mike himself? He was doing just fine, thank you. He was considering taking Candi to Ibiza next month, for a couple weeks. Maybe hole up in the Royal Suite of a four-star hotel, get some Business done while indulging in some pleasure. _That_ was the sort of money he was taking in, and he was thrilled to be a success. An actual _success_. If only his dad could see him now. (Sock the old man right in his lazy, drunk face, that's what Mike would do if he could see _him_ now.) His ideas were getting him somewhere, his cons were working, he could afford to pay for a woman, multiple women, even, to pretend to be interested in him (and Candi's friend Lisa seemed legitimately interested, though she might have been just a spectacular actress. He doubted it, she didn't seem smart enough). Life was _good_.

Life was so good, in fact, that he was beginning to think they'd need some help. Neil was needed down in the cellar with his crops, and Rick…well, improvement or not, Rick was still Rick. Vyvyan couldn't be everywhere at once, and to be frank, there were some things he wasn't willing to do - though he'd never say so. He seemed to be happy (indeed, gleeful) with a certain level of violence, but he had a tendency to disappear during interrogations. Seemed like prolonged torture wasn't quite Vyv's bag. The man had standards, he'd give him that, but standards didn't pay the bills…of which there were few, but that was neither here nor there. Profits were profits, nonetheless. And he needed more men on the street - Roberto Bertolini, the no-necked fucker who ran half of the East End, had his sights set on Jerzei's territory - territory gone uncontested for the past 15 years. There could be trouble ahead, and he needed to know his assets were protected.

The Business could use some new blood. It'd be another party tonight (yet another brilliant idea that had paid off, my god, he was staggeringly brilliant), and he thought he could likely find some there. Vyvyan's friends were always up for violence or delinquency, or both. Why not interview a few of them and see which ones were smart enough to take orders properly, but stupid enough to accept a lower pay than the rest? Genius. Simply genius.

*****

They were hanging out in Vyvyan's room, for once. Well, actually Rick had just shown up in Vyvyan's room sometime around noon and didn't appear to be planning to leave anytime soon. Vyvyan was trying to ignore him for the most part - he'd just bought a new book, and he actually had the free-time to read it. But attempting to read anything around a bored and somewhat hyper Rick was a sisyphean task.

"Will you _sit down_?" Vyvyan said, looking up from his book, "Write a bloody poem or something." He was lying on his bed and kept catching Rick's wandering aimlessly out of the corner of his eye. It was making him bloody nervous.

"I'm so _bored_ ," Rick whined, " _You've_ got something to do. Give _me_ something to do!"

"Pace around _your_ room for a while, that would be a start!"

"Ugh, Vyvyan! Let's _do_ something!"

"Like _what_?" Vyvyan was annoyed, but still trying to be patient - he really didn't mind hanging around Rick if he wasn't going to be irritating. That didn't seem to be an option, however.

"I don't know! Anything!"

"Do you want to watch telly?"

"No," Rick flopped into Vyvyan's desk chair.

"Do you want to play cards?"

"No," Rick hung over the side of the chair until it started to spin. He started pushing himself in circles.

Annoyance was giving way to anger at this point. It was like haggling with a five-year-old.

"Do you want to suck my cock?"

Rick stopped spinning and gave him a wilting look. "Don't be vulgar, Vyvyan."

"AUGH!" Vyvyan grabbed his head in exasperation and growled at the ceiling. "You make _no bloody sense_ , do you know that?"

Rick went back to spinning. Vyvyan assumed he'd found himself something to do and went back to reading. He got through three sentences.

"Vyvyan."

Vyvyan ignored him.

"Vyvyaaan."

He gripped the sides of his book.

"VYVYAN!"

He threw down his book, leapt off the bed and grabbed the chair, spun it so Rick was facing him.

"SHUT UP! I'M TRYING TO BLOODY READ!"

"Are you _trying_ or _reading_? You either _are_ or you-"

Vyvyan knocked the chair over. Rick grabbed at Vyvyan's ankle and managed to pull him down. Vyvyan pulled Rick out from under the chair, as Rick struggled and slapped at him, straddled Rick, grabbed his collar and smacked him. Rick grabbed Vyvyan's shirt and smacked back. Vyvyan smacked back. Rick smacked back.

"Hey, guys?" Neil popped in through the open doorway. The two froze mid-smack and turned to look at him.

"The latest crop is ready for packaging, what do you say we try the merchandise before we get started? It's a really good strand. Chill high, very mellow, good for getting in the zone."

They lowered their hands and shrugged at each other.

"Sure," said Rick.

"Why not?" said Vyvyan.

"Great!" said Neil, and came in, pulling a pipe from his pocket.

*****

"So I'm in the drumming circle, right, and I like, astral projected into this other plane of existence, and I'm standing in front of this huge tree-"

"You liar, you did not!"

"I did, I did!"

"Could you still hear the drums, then?"

"You know, I could, actually. And the thing was-"

Rick wasn't used to being high. He only ever did it at parties, usually. Though the frequency of their parties had increased dramatically in the past few months, and he was starting to react differently to the sensation. This time, he found himself doing something else he was only just getting used to; he observed. He watched Vyvyan deny wholeheartedly that Neil's story was of any interest while probing him for more details. He watched Neil's animated gestures and smiled at the unfamiliarity of his positive disposition. He thought about how different the world could become in such a short time.

If you had told him a year ago that by next year he'd find himself sitting content and stoned on the floor of Vyvyan's room, across from a happy, gesticulating Neil, next to a Vyvyan he felt more warmth and fondness for than he'd ever felt for anyone, the sneer he would have given you would melt paint. He realized suddenly that he and Vyvyan were holding hands and had been doing so for a while. They'd just done it out of habit apparently, and if Neil had noticed, he hadn't said a word or batted an eye. The Thing With Vyvyan was just another element of this strange new life they'd built for themselves, along with Neil's crops and Mike's schemes and Vyvyan's assignments. He liked it.

Vyvyan idly stroked the side of Rick's hand with his thumb, and he liked that, too. He looked over at Vyvyan and realized he'd asked him a question.

"Hm?" He stared at him blankly and Vyvyan grinned at him.

"Rick's miles away on Stoner Island!" Neil shouted, and he and Vyvyan laughed and razzed him.

Vyvyan grabbed him around the shoulders and planted a big kiss on his temple, ruffling his hair, exactly the way he might with any friend, drunk at a party or what have you. The gesture stuck with Rick – he was immensely touched. He wasn't just somebody Vyvyan was screwing anymore. He was really Vyvyan's friend. No matter what he said, it seemed Vyvyan actually gave a damn about him. He liked that more than anything.

Soon after, Vyvyan stood and stretched.

"Well gents," he said, "Let's get to work, shall we?"

The other two shrugged at each other, and followed him down to the cellar.

*****

' _What a strange year it's been_ ,' Neil thought as he processed his latest batch of weed for sale, right alongside Vyvyan and Rick. That either of them were here at all was a great improvement and enormous change from a year ago. Rick had been the first to offer help. Well, perhaps "offer" wasn't the right word. He'd grown tired of his meager, "all right, fine, you live in this house and we're using your money, so take this and shut up" stipend of £20 a week (depending on Mike's mood and Rick's behaving himself), and began demanding things to do. After a string of embarrassing (and frankly, hilarious) failures at the _simplest_ of tasks (the stories of which, Mike and Vyvyan took great joy in recounting every chance they got), Neil finally got the idea to offer Rick a portion of his own profits (2%, not much, but not too shabby either considering the profits he was actually generating) to help him down in the cellar - pruning plants, de-seeding buds, stuffing baggies and so on. Neil's friends had helped him occasionally, but he thought, why not be charitable and help Rick out?

Rick was _very_ ungrateful at first, _that_ was why not. He complained loudly, of course, but he also seemed to try and do the worst job he possibly could, likely in the belief that such behavior would get him out of the obligation of having to actually do any work. He broke glass instruments, dropped a very delicate scale on the concrete, mis-weighed portions so they'd have to be redone, anything he could think of. Neil had actually lost an _entire_ _plant_ to Rick's quite purposefully "pruning" it from the stalk.

After learning of _that_ ~~tantrum~~ incident, Mike had called Rick up to his room for a private meeting. Only Mike and Rick knew what went on in the hour the two were up there, and there'd been no noise from the room whatsoever. But after Rick came back out - white as a sheet and shaking - Neil had no more trouble from him. He arrived on time, did as he was told without complaint, and even asked Neil to re-train him in a couple tasks so he could have a chance to pay attention. Now, several months later, he was a useful, nearly integral part of the process, and Neil couldn't imagine doing the work without him. Rick had even started chatting with him while they worked. Not insulting him, not berating him, just _chatting_ with him, like he was a _person_ and everything. It was a real surprise.

Well, actually, the _real_ surprise had been Vyvyan. A couple weeks after Rick had come to his senses, Vyv had just shown up out of the blue one day, sat down without a word, and started helping. He gleaned the processes, through observation, in about a day, and suddenly he was another member of the team. He only showed up occasionally, but whenever his free time happened to coincide with work time, there he'd be. At first, Neil couldn't fathom _why_ Vyvyan had suddenly taken an interest at all. He was busier than the other two put together as it was, and he'd been entirely _disinterested_ in the work when Neil had started (to the point of knocking Neil out whenever he started talking about it). But after a few of these drop-ins, Neil noticed that whenever Vyv joined them, he always sat down right next to Rick - as close as possible. Mystery solved. Still, whatever his reasons, Vyv did a good job, and Neil was happy to have him.

Neil was happy generally, in fact, and that was the even bigger change. He'd never been so happy in his entire life. He was content in his work, he had more money in his pocket than he'd ever had, even before his parents cut him off, and his love life was certainly an improvement over, well, ever. After Meadowlark (who he still saw on occasion, thank you very much), there had been Jupiter, and then Willow, and Henna, and then, strangely enough, Summer, who he'd known longer than any of them and who'd never given him a moment's consideration before. And then of course, there'd been that time after a party with Summer _and_ Autumn, and a tab of ecstasy each, which he fondly remembered as 'half a year of bliss'. Being a drug dealer certainly had its perks. He didn't even have to go looking most of the time, he'd just hang around at parties, and the hippie girls would glance over at him from across the room and whisper conspiratorially and share knowing smiles and then one of them would eventually make her way over to him. Free love, indeed. He was knee-deep in "free love" actually. He didn't think any of the other guys had noticed. That was fine, he was getting plenty of it, no need to broadcast it. Unlike some people he knew.

The doorbell rang. Three rings in rapid succession, then a pause, then three more. Neil and Vyvyan looked at each other. That was the signal.

"You all right down here, Rick?" Neil said, as they stood up. Rick waved him off without looking up from the buds he was weighing.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, go fix up your goons."

Vyvyan and Neil headed up the stairs to drag their newest patient into the house.

*****

A few months prior, Neil had started nursing for Vyvyan in situations where he needed an extra pair of hands. Vyvyan was surprised - he was actually pretty good at it. He took orders well, anticipated Vyvyan's needs, was nice to the patients - he was actually very good for business. But the bloke at the door wasn't all that hurt, so Vyvyan sent Neil back down to the cellar and helped the bloke into the house himself. The bloke was on a crutch, and his foot was at an odd angle. No idea where he'd got the crutch, it looked old and beaten up. Vyvyan didn't recognize him at all.

"You the street doc, then?"

"That's what they say. You got a reference?" Vyvyan was suspicious. The bloke wasn't one of Balowski's men. He wasn't sure _which_ outfit he was with, if any. This was happening with increasing frequency lately - strangers showing up at the door with a reference from somebody's friend's friend. It was best to get specifics - you never knew whether that Bertolini fucker was going to sneak a spy into the house.

"Yeah, my brother Jake's friend Fred knows Mickey Torrence."

Ah yes. Mickey _was_ one of Balowski's men. He was a fucking idiot, but he was a relatively trustworthy one, and he was low enough on the totem pole that his name wouldn't be known outside the organization. The bloke passed. Vyvyan nodded.

"What's the trouble?"

The bloke pointed down to his foot, "Pretty obvious. Broke it about a week ago, thought I'd let it heal up by itself but it don't seem to be any better. S'pose you'd better look at this, too," he lifted his shirt to reveal a gouge in his lower abdomen - not deep, but red and angry, "It won't stop hurtin' neither."

The cut was infected, but that was easy enough to fix. It was the ankle he was worried about, not sure what all he'd have to do.

"How much have you got?"

The bloke reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He handed it over, "Twelve-hundred, figured I'd up it a bit for the trouble."

Vyvyan took it and counted it. Well, well, an honest crook. He was going to charge at least a grand for a job like this anyway, but the extra two didn't hurt. Vyvyan nodded, "Right, let's get you upstairs, see what I can do."

He helped him up the stairs, and they'd only got to the landing when the bloke started in. Vyvyan wasn't in the habit of asking patients why they'd chosen him over hospital, but some of them seemed determined to give him their life story anyway. This bloke was no exception.

"Bank job. Went to shite, tried to escape - bit embarrassing really. Tripped over a hostage, landed wrong and got caught on the corner of a desk. Bloody stupid. Managed to get out, but half of London and their mum saw my face. Plastered all over the bloody news, had to come here with my jacket over my bloody head."

Vyvyan bit back about a hundred snarky replies. Neil had done him some good in that regard - he was learning to be at least a little nicer to his patients. It encouraged repeat business. He helped the bloke into the lab and got him laid out. He didn't seem willing to shut up.

"I had to come to you. Word on the street says you're the best street doc in London."

Well, he certainly didn't know about all that, but the compliment was nice.

"I do what I can," he shrugged, testing the bloke's ankle as the bloke cringed. This really was going to be a challenge. It was healing, certainly, only completely wrong, and it seemed the stupid bastard had been trying to walk on it. He was going to have to re-brake it if he wanted to splint it properly.

"They also say your bedside manner is absolute shite, but you don't seem all that bad to meeeeEEEEE AUGH! WHAT THE FUCKING CHRIST?!?"

The scream came along with the crack of the bloke's ankle. Vyvyan looked up, the bloke's foot still in his hands.

"Oh," he said, as a bit of an afterthought, "Probably should have counted down or something."

"WHAT THE FUCK? I came in to fix the fucking thing, not break it again!"

"Didn't really have a choice, did I? Do you want to walk on this foot properly or not at all? Because the latter was where you were headed, letting a broken ankle heal over for a bloody week before bothering to drag your arse to a doctor."

"Well you could have fucking warned me!"

Vyvyan shrugged, "Could have. Didn't."

"Fucking hell, you crazy bastard, it hurt less when I broke it in the first place!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Vyvyan stood up, irritated, "I was under the impression you'd come here to get fixed up, not to bloody complain about it the whole time. I'd be perfectly happy to ship you off to the nearest hospital, they'd be happy to cater to your majesty. And they'd be happy to call the pigs so fast you'll be in cuffs before you get a chance to fill out the intake form."

The bloke glared at him, "Who the fuck d'ya think you are?"

Vyvyan got in the bloke's face, and he didn't yell. He didn't have to, the menace in his eyes said it fine.

"I'm the street doc charging a bloody grand less per job than that quack Ed Hamlisch down in Croydon, and it's me or him until halfway to bloody Southampton last I checked. Beggars can't be choosers, mate. Grin and bear it or get out."

The bloke scowled even harder - but he shut up. Vyvyan brightened right up.

"Not to worry, we'll have this ankle set in no time and you'll never have to see my face again if you're careful."

He shot the scowling bloke up with painkiller and got to mixing plaster for the cast. He'd like to get this job done quickly as possible. _Chez Mike's_ was set to open in three hours, and he was looking forward to it - it was Punk Night.

*****

Rick wandered through the house in a pleasant, drunken fog and took in his surroundings. Another night at _Chez Mike's_ , another excuse to drink to near-oblivion. Neil and his grungy friends were upstairs holding a seance or something, leaving everyone else downstairs to enjoy the lack of their presence. Vyvyan's friends filled the whole house, and were thoroughly enjoying the bar. Punks oozed down the stairwell and moshed in the hallway. Punks drank hydrogen peroxide in the sitting room and snorted powdered bleach in the kitchen. Vyvyan was kissing a girl in the garden. Mike was playing poker on the landing with two of Jerzei's boys and a couple of Vyvyan's friends, and they appeared to be making a business deal. Rick wandered over to the bar for another drink.

Wait.

Rick bolted to the back window and cupped his hands over his eyes to get a better look. Vyvyan _was_ kissing a girl in the garden! Snogging away with some skinny, purple-fringed bint in a tartan mini-skirt and too many piercings. He had a hand up her shirt and he was squeezing rhythmically. She practically had her legs wrapped around him. He could barely see them in the dim light, but they were definitely out there, and it was _definitely_ Vyvyan. They were sitting in his stargazing spot. Rick was horrified, but he couldn't look away. The fear that had hovered in the back of his mind since the Thing With Vyvyan began was unfolding before his eyes; he was being replaced.

Right now, this moment – this was the moment Vyvyan would stop paying any attention to him. Vyvyan had kissed him just before the party started - that was the last time he'd ever kiss him again. This was the moment he'd be left behind. He could see it already – sitting alone in his room while Vyvyan is off entertaining this tart, or worse, is next door fucking her noisily while he shields himself from the torture with his pillow over his ears.

He knew it. He'd known all along. Vyvyan didn't care at all. Rick was a placeholder, a cure for boredom. Rick was something to do until something better (and female) came along, and now that something was getting rather close to opening Vyvyan's fly. She'd only be the first. Once Vyvyan got a taste for crumpet there'd be no looking back. Deep down, he'd always known it couldn't last. Vyvyan was bisexual, which as far as Rick was concerned meant, 'gay, unless there's a straight option.' No matter how many times Vyvyan said it, Rick would never be a girl, and a girl _had_ to be what he really wanted.

In his mind's eye, he saw himself rush out to the garden and raise hell. He'd slap the purple off her hair, shove Vyvyan into the dirt, call him every name in the book. He clenched his fists, ready to charge in and take back what was his. But his feet stayed planted to the floor.

He turned away. He couldn't face him. He didn't know how he would ever face him again. He felt his cheeks and eyes burn as he stared at the ground. His walk turned into a run – he would _not_ cry in front of everyone. Still, his eyes welled as he shoved past the drunken revelers, ignoring Mike's protests as he tripped over his chair leg on the landing. He only just made it through his bedroom door before he collapsed into keening howls. He threw himself on his bed and tried to stifle his cries with his pillow. It didn't matter anyway, the party raged on outside and no one could hear him. No one cared.

"I'm so stupid! I'm so bloody stupid!"

He cried harder, and harder. He couldn't stop himself. His blood was hot lead and he could barely breathe. Every exhale threatened to burst his head open. Every sob strained his abs until his entire torso screamed. He knew heartbreak was supposed to hurt. He didn't know it would feel like he was going to die.

It was over, when it felt like it had only just begun.

*****

Vyvyan stumbled upstairs and attempted to stumble through Rick's door. Instead, he ran into it head on and ricocheted onto the hallway floor. The door was locked. That was odd, Rick hadn't locked his door in months. He bounced up and, trying to keep his balance, banged on the door.

"Lemme in, poof, 's me."

Nothing. He tried again.

"Come on, open up!"

Silence. He shrugged. Stupid lightweight must have locked it on accident and passed out. He'd give him hell for it in the morning. He shuffled over to his own room, disappointed and horny – the pretty girl had got bored and bolted, rather quickly, and he hadn't even got off properly. He'd been looking forward to sleeping next to a warm and snuggly Rick tonight and this was a very disheartening turn of events.

He paused just before he got through his own door. He looked over at Rick's. He frowned. Odd. Very odd.

*****

Vyvyan didn't drag himself out of bed until nearly three. He managed to get himself downstairs somewhere closer to supper. Rick sat at the table, scribbling into his notebook. Neil slaved over the stove. Mike was nowhere to be seen.

"Hello everybody," Vyvyan managed, meandering over to the table and slamming his head into it, "I've got the worst hangover in the entire world."

He'd expected Rick to say something, but he didn't. He leaned over to him, "Quite the party last night. Looks like this one went and passed out early again."

Rick kept scribbling as if Vyvyan hadn't said anything. Vyvyan waved his hand in front of Rick's face and he didn't even bat it away. What the hell?

"Neil, am I invisible?"

"Not that I can tell, Vyv. If you are, I can see invisible people. Whoa, Vyv, _are_ you invisible?"

"I dunno."

"Rick, can you see Vyvyan?"

Rick didn't answer. In fact, the moment Neil addressed him, he closed his notebook, stood up, and walked upstairs as if neither of them had said anything.

Neil shrugged at him, "Maybe we're both invisible."

"No," Vyvyan said, trying to watch Rick leave through the blur of his hangover, "No, Neil, I don't think we are."

Rick was clearly ignoring him. Well, this ought to be nice, finally some peace and quiet. Whatever was up, he was going to enjoy this for a while. He got up to try and smash the hangover out of his head with the fridge door.

*****

**_Tuesday, 4 June_ **

_This is torture. Everything is awful. Wish I were anywhere but here._

_He's pretending like nothing happened. Cheating bastard doesn't even have the courtesy to feel guilty about it. He hasn't even asked what's wrong. Doubt he cares. Doubt he ever did. Feel like a laughingstock. He's probably giggling about it behind my back. With her._

_Still can't look at him. Won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me broken._

*****

The bathroom door opened and Rick bolted out, past Vyvyan and into his room. Vyvyan had been waiting outside for half an hour, and he hadn't even got a chance to start a conversation; he'd barely opened his mouth. He watched the door close, heard the locks engage and sighed. He hung his shoulders.

Nearly 24 hours later, and Vyvyan didn't have a clue what was going on, but Rick was still giving him the silent treatment. Not so much as an 'excuse me' in the hallway. He wouldn't even meet his eyes. It was beginning to bother him. It wasn't the childish sort of, "Neil, would you tell Vyvyan that I'm not speaking to him," crap he expected from Rick. It seemed a lot deeper and more serious than that. It seemed suddenly, as far as Rick was concerned, Vyvyan simply _wasn't_ _there._ Stupid girly bastard. He wished he'd quit fucking around and tell him what the hell was going on already, but he couldn't catch him alone to ask. His door remained locked, and Vyvyan figured if he was miffed enough to lock it, he'd better leave it that way, whether he had the key or not.

*****

The front door closed and for the first time since the day of the party, Vyvyan and Rick were alone together in the house, sitting in front of the television. They sat on opposite ends of the sofa and neither looked happy to be there. Vyvyan was tired of playing games. He reached out for Rick and was surprised and a little hurt when he pulled away.

"Don't touch me," he said, the first thing he'd said to Vyvyan in three days, "Don't ever touch me again." He scooted further away.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Vyvyan said, angry and genuinely confused, "What did I _do_?"

"So you finally care, do you? You must want a piece of me. What _did_ you do, Vyvyan?" Rick sneered at him, crossing his arms, "What could it be? Think _really_ hard!"

Vyvyan did think, he'd _been_ thinking, and he wasn't coming up with anything. He hadn't played any particularly cruel practical jokes lately, Rick's birthday had long since passed, and before this sudden mood shift he'd been greeted with Rick's irritatingly sunny, smiling face almost every day. Overall, he thought he'd been behaving himself rather well.

"I dunno what you're talking about."

"You LIAR! You probably don't even remember her! You were too drunk, or maybe it just happens so often they've all run together for you." He was curling up on the couch a bit and his voice was starting to waver.

Her? Too drunk to –

"That girl at the party? Honestly?" Rick couldn't be upset about that. Could he?

"Who is she, Vyvyan? What's your harlot's name?"

This wasn't fair, he and Rick were only messing around; he couldn't cheat on him, they weren't even together. And besides, he didn't give two shits about that girl, he didn't even know her. It was different. He snogged that girl because he was drunk and she was pretty and she let him, simple as that, nothing to be jealous about. And they were out in the garden, supposedly alone, how did he know about her anyway?

"You were spying on me."

"And why shouldn't I?"

"Because you don't own me, I don't have to answer to you! There was a reason I was out there. You can't just follow me around without permission and complain about what you find."

"How many of them are you hiding from me? I'm probably going to have to get a physical – who knows what you've caught from them all."

"Come off it," Vyvyan growled, "It's only ever been you except for the other night, and it didn't even get that far with her!"

"How far does it have to go before I get to be upset about it, Vyvyan? And besides, how do I know that?"

"Because it's true!"

"How can I believe you? How can I ever trust anything you say again?"

"Because I never lied to you, and I'm _not_ your bloody _boyfriend_ , Rick!" he was as loud as Rick now, "I never said I was!"

"You didn't have to! You were leading me on, Vyvyan, you made me think you wanted me when you were only _using_ me!" Rick burst into angry tears and leapt off the couch. He ran up the stairs and slammed his door.

Vyvyan scowled at the floor. He didn't have to? What was that supposed to mean? He wasn't leading anybody on. Bastard. That was completely…completely……damn. That was completely fair, come to think of it. They really were just messing around, in the beginning. Vyvyan never intended it to be otherwise, but…

_Rick yawns and snuggles deeper into his chest._

" _I'm glad you came in here, I can't sleep right otherwise. I miss you when you're gone."_

_It's an offhand comment, muttered at the edge of sleep. Vyvyan tenses, because it was unexpected, and because he can't say he disagrees. He isn't sure how he feels about that. He feels like ignoring it._

_"You're such a girl. Go to sleep."_

Somewhere along the line, they'd shifted from housemates, to something like friends, to some kind of unspoken arrangement. Now that he looked at the past few weeks, things had got a bit serious.

_"Mmm, good morning," Rick smiles and blinks away the sleep from his eyes._

_"Morning," Vyvyan's been watching him sleep again, and he stopped trying to hide it long ago. He watches him get up and get dressed, too._

_"Where're you off to so early?"_

_"Oh, a few people from the Collective and I are holding a die-in at the McDonald's down the road."_

_"A die-in?"_

_"Mm-hmm, we cover ourselves in fake blood and lie around on the floor to protest the killing of helpless animals for mass consumption."_

_Vyvyan gets up and considers this while he finds his clothes._

_"…That's got to be the most madly stupid thing I've ever heard."_

_"It happens to be very important work, Vyvyan, just because you don't appreciate it-"_

_"Shut up," he says without malice and Rick smiles indulgently and rolls his eyes instead of berating him._

_"Whatever, you don't have to go."_

_Vyvyan's glad he isn't going, but a part of him wishes he were, if only because he'd get to be around him more. He stops Rick at the door and traces a hand down his cheek._

_"Well be careful, don't get yourself arrested or anything."_

_"I won't. See you later?" Rick looks hopeful._

_"Yeah, I'll be around."_

_The goodbye kiss is automatic and unacknowledged, unnoticed really, and Rick gives a wave as he heads down the stairs. Vyvyan watches him go, leaning against the door frame. When he hears the front door close, he feels just a bit lonely._

Perhaps more than a bit serious. It was insidious the way this relationship had grown up around them. He went to sleep one day with a housemate he occasionally fucked and woke up with, all right, maybe not a boyfriend officially, but something damn close to it. Someone to spend time with, to come home to and hold and reach out for on cold nights. They asked about each other's day and listened, even conversed about it. They waited up for one another when they stayed out late, and more than once they worried when the other was very late. More than ever they sought each other's company, not only for sex, but for company's sake. Vyvyan realized he'd been automatically following Rick to bed the past few weeks…the past few months, even…instead of simply coming and going as he pleased; it was becoming the norm. It was, in fact, rapidly becoming 'their' room. They spent plenty of time in their own rooms during the day, but they slept side by side at night, every night. It was beginning to look as though Vyvyan had two rooms, and one just happened to contain Rick and all of Rick's things.

And sometimes lately, when he heard himself call Rick a poof it sounded a bit less like an insult and a bit more like a pet name.

And he wasn't sure what he wanted to do about any of it.

He'd been shoving everything away for so long he hadn't stopped to think how he actually felt about any of it. He'd just been sort-of letting it happen, enjoying the ride and seeing where things went. As it turned out, things were going in a direction he hadn't expected. They were going in pretty much the last direction he'd wanted them to when he'd started, in fact. But they were going, whether he wanted them to or not. He'd felt the tendrils of affection creep in and merge and grow bigger than themselves, and he'd been foolish enough to think if he ignored them, they would wither. He was wrong, and he was comfortable with what had grown out of it. More than comfort, he liked it. Some days, he liked _Rick_. Actually liked him, enjoyed his company, thought about him when they were apart. That was a foreign and somewhat frightening thought, but there it was. Like it or not, he was growing fond of the bastard. He'd been fond of him for a while.

What was he going to do about it?

He considered the consequences of letting things continue on their current trajectory. He wasn't sure, exactly, what those consequences would be. He'd never had to fit somebody else into his life before and he had no idea how to begin, let alone how it would work out. He supposed he would have to start by telling Rick the truth, girly though it may be. But he had so little experience talking about feelings, he wasn't even sure he _could;_ he wasn't even sure he knew _how_. The thought was a little daunting, and if he was honest with himself, more than a little scary. But he thought about the possibility of things going back to the way they were and found he not only couldn't picture it, he didn't really want to. He listened to the (largely put-on, he was sure) sobs wafting from upstairs and underneath the expected aggravation, he found an ache in the pit of his stomach that lurched with every wail. He sighed.

Vyvyan climbed the stairs, tried Rick's door and called through it when he found it locked.

"Come on, I was not using you! It's all a misunderstanding. Let me in, I want to explain."

"NO! There's nothing to explain, I already know YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ME AT ALL! And boyfriend or not, Vyvyan, I won't share you. I refuse to! I mean it, you are never touching me again! Go play with your whore!"

Vyvyan sighed and leaned his forearm against the door, "Just open the bloody door, poof, I'll unlock it anyway."

"Then DO IT! I won't help you!"

Vyvyan grumbled and took out his key ring. "You're not making this easy for me!" he called as he flipped through the keys. "Whingey bastard," he muttered, but loud enough it probably got through the door anyway.

"Good! I hope you're having a really miserable time!"

The door opened easily; Rick hadn't set the deadbolt. He walked in and stood next to Rick, who was curled up on his bed with his bedsheet over him entirely like a melodramatic twat. Vyvyan crossed his arms. Rick whined through his sniffles and the muffle of the sheet.

"You probably think this is hilarious, don't you? This whole thing was just an elaborate practical joke, building up to a big laugh. Well laugh it up, Vyvyan, you've finally won. You've finally hurt me as much as you possibly can, I hope you're happy."

Vyvyan scowled. Why had Rick made the assumption that they were _together_ together in the first place? Regardless of how things had evolved, hadn't they both always known how it started? Hadn't he made it clear from the beginning that…

Well, wasn't there that time when…

Surely there was the time…

Now that he thought about it, that particular conversation hadn't come up in detail, and _he'd_ been assuming they were on the same page all along. Worse, if he remembered correctly, Rick tried to bring it up once, tried to nail him down to a definition back at the beginning, and he was the one to quash the conversation. He was sure if Rick had brought it up again, he would have shot him down.

Melodramatic or not, there was a good chance Rick was actually hurt, and had reason to be. He'd gone and snogged that girl after Rick thought they'd grown beyond that. Because they _had_ , and Vyvyan had been too wrapped up in himself to admit it. All of this was entirely his fault.

Fuck.

His scowl shifted to a frown and he sat next to Rick's shaking form. Rick scooted away from him and closer to the wall.

"GO AWAY! Leave me alone, you've had your fun."

"I'm sorry," he said, simply and quietly, "I fucked up."

"You DID fuck up, now fuck off!"

He swallowed his irritation at Rick's rubbing it in – he deserved it. As much as he enjoyed tormenting Rick, he never wanted to actually _hurt_ him, not like _this_. He felt terrible, and every errant sob and sniffle and ragged breath sent another stab of guilt through him. He put a hand on Rick's back and felt him tense under his touch. He didn't pull away.

"I didn't even know her, she meant nothing to me."

Rick gave a sardonic laugh, "Such a fucking cliché. Besides, what does it matter?"

"Because it does matter. How could I give a shit about her? I don't even know her name, I don't know anything about her. But I know your birthday," he gave Rick's side a squeeze.

Rick popped his head out from under the sheet, "You know my birthday because I held a monthly house seminar on it all through first term!"

"True, but I also know you'd rather get cash because you return practically everything you get, even the stuff you ask for early, because you're bored of it by the time your birthday comes around."

Rick looked away, but he didn't put his head back under the sheet.

"So?"

"So I know you like curry takeaway better than kebabs, but you get kebabs anyway because you know I like them more and you want to share them with me. I know sometimes, when you think nobody's watching, you sneak pieces of meat off my plate, because you still love bacon and sausages no matter how much they taste like murder. I know before you settled on Sociology you wanted to be a barrister, but you changed your mind because you thought it would be more interesting to study people than help them."

He turned further toward Rick and scooted closer. He wrapped a finger around one of Rick's pigtails and ignored his meager grunt of protest. He stroked the back of his neck with his thumb.

"I know you honestly do wish that everybody could always get along, and I suppose that's not actually all that bad of a wish, even if it is girly. And I know if you could, you'd free all the political prisoners and death row inmates and illegal immigrants and lab animals, which if you did all at once would make one hell of a fucking mess, so I'm all for it. And I know you love to find constellations on clear nights, even if you do make some of them up."

Vyvyan couldn't tell if that last noise was a shaky sigh or a laugh, and it might have been a little of both.

"I know you prefer to sleep on the inside of the bed, nearer the wall," he lay down next to Rick and put an arm around him. Rick didn't move. He spoke softly into his ear, "Because it feels safer and you can sleep easier. And I know you sleep with a night light, not because of the dark exactly, but because of the worry that there's nothing else behind it; that once the light goes you're alone in a dark sea."

"That's beautiful," Rick whispered. He relaxed into Vyvyan a little and sniffled. "I hate you." Vyvyan held him closer.

"I know, that's all right, hate me all you want, just listen. I know why you're angry, you think she's taking me away from you. But that's not possible because I _know_ you, poof. Better than anybody. I know your favorite color. I know you're such a girly twat," he laughed quietly, "that you have a favorite bloody color, and that it's quite possibly the girliest color imaginable," he laughed harder, wheezing out whispery chuckles, "powder fucking blue."

His laughter ebbed and he kissed the back of Rick's neck. Rick hummed in half-protest, half-approval and Vyvyan knew he had closed his eyes, without being able to see.

"I know a spot just behind your earlobe I could use to take this in a different direction, but I won't, because I know you're too angry to really want me to."

"Is she prettier than me?"

"That's a stupid question on a variety of levels, poof, and I refuse to answer. Forget her. She's nothing, she's dirt, she's gone, she won't be back. She doesn't matter."

"But how long until the next one?"

"No, half-wit," he shook him, "Listen, I just figured this one out. Now…I know if I want this, it's going to have to be just us."

Rick twisted around and watched his eyes, " _Do_ you want this?"

"Do you?"

"Vyvyan…" Rick seemed to swallow what he was going to say and replace it with something else, "Whatever this is, I don't want it to be over."

"Then it isn't," Vyvyan ventured a smile and kissed him, "Simple as that."

Rick flipped over the rest of the way and sank into Vyvyan's chest, his hands still in fists. He scowled.

"Oooh, I'm still so bloody angry with you, I don't know what to do."

"You should hit me."

"I should, but I won't."

"Why not? You've hit me loads before, haven't you? And you're angry with me, aren't you? You should be, I acted like an arsehole. Hit me, you'll feel better. Come on," he released Rick and stood up. He leaned forward a little.

"Seriously, do it like you mean it, I won't do anything. Just remember to hold your thumb out of the way like I showed you, so you don't break it again."

Rick stared at him in shock for a few seconds. Then his expression darkened and he sat up, reared back and punched.

Vyvyan didn't even realize he was falling until he was on the ground. Rick had hit absolutely as hard as he could and it caught him off guard – it actually bloody hurt! He tasted blood and checked his lip – he'd bit right into it all right, and deeply. That was going to smart for a long while. He gazed up at Rick to find him perched on the edge of the bed, his face somewhere between panic and satisfaction.

"Oh, you're bleeding! I didn't think – I've _never_ punched you hard enough to – are you-? I'm sorry! Ow…" He clutched at his hand.

Vyvyan laughed. Then he laughed harder, staring at the blood on his fingers like it was a strange and hilarious new diversion. Rick stared at him for a moment before joining him, releasing tentative chuckles around his still shaky breath. Vyvyan got up and sat down next to him, clapping him on the back.

"That has to feel better," he rubbed Rick's back with one hand and his own jaw with the other.

"It does," Rick said in relief, flexing his hand, "It really does." He took Vyvyan's hand, "I'm sorry I didn't trust you." Vyvyan shook his head.

"Nah. It was my fault. Honestly, I think this whole thing sort-of got away from me."

"I think I know what you mean. I think this – _we_ – might have been an 'us' for longer than either of us were willing to admit."

"Right," Vyvyan cleared his throat, stood and pulled Rick with him, "This is the girliest conversation I've ever had and I'm done with it. Come on. My lip needs a couple of stitches and you're going to help me do it."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Rick said, bewildered, as Vyvyan led him out the door.

"Shut up and I'll show you, whiny girlie. And clean your face, you look like a fucking toddler."

"At least I can clean up, you're stuck looking like that!"

The shove against his chest and the thud of his back hitting the wall felt like more to Rick than just making up. It felt like the Thing With Vyvyan shifting into something else, something much better. He knew it would be all right. He smiled as he pushed himself off the wall and dusted himself off. Happily, he mopped up his face with his sleeve and went to help his boyfriend fix his busted lip.

**Author's Note:**

> I gotta' be honest folks, I feel like the first half of this fic really _needs_ a beta, but I was eager to get it posted, because I had two more waiting for posting (a finished one, and a nearly finished one) and it was holding them up. Just...know that I'm not altogether happy with it, but can't really put my finger on why, other than it sort-of bores me. The scope of the fic was pretty big, trying to bring everything up to date like that. And I'm not entirely sure how necessary the fix-up scene is.
> 
> Everything from the party scene on was written in much less of a rush (as in, 99% of it was finished like, two years ago), and I like it better. Or maybe it's just that I'm so much more interested in the Rick/Vyv angle that everything else pales in comparison. ^_~
> 
> But I hope y'all like at least some of it. ^_^


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